


The Care and Keeping of Your Detective

by freakedelic



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol, Black Humor, Brainwashing, Comedy, Dungeons and Dragons, Excessive pet names, Kidnapping, M/M, Memes, Nonconsensual, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicide, Switching, i cant tell if this is funny or not but it makes ME laugh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 14:50:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19725853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakedelic/pseuds/freakedelic
Summary: "Yeet," Ra's says.





	The Care and Keeping of Your Detective

**Author's Note:**

  * For [renowo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renowo/gifts).



> i keep telling people that ra'stim is COMEDY GOLD this is what i mean. also special thanks to bat and ren who inspired me on parts of this thank u for being woke to ra'stim hilarity

Timothy Drake stares at his American school lunch in the fuzzy security camera. His dark circles are visible under his eyes even from this height, and his hair is visibly unwashed. Equations trail their way up pale arms in smudged ink. He shovels another soggy french fry into his mouth, scratching his armpit with the other hand.

“Are you sure you want that one, Master?” Ra’s’s assistant inquires, standing meekly next to him as he watches the screen.

“You _dare_ question the will of the Demon?” Ra’s booms.

“N-no, master, of course not,” he mutters, looking down. Ra’s turns his attention back to Timothy. He’s facedown in his applesauce, clearly snoring.

“He’s _perfect_.”

  1. **Share the happy news with your detective**



“Happy engagement,” Ra’s says. Tim blinks at him.

“To who?”

“To you.”

“I’m not engaged,” he says blankly.

“I am pleased to inform you that you are. To me, the Demon’s Head.”

“No,” Tim declares.

“Yes.” Ra’s’s grin shows teeth.

“No!”

“This is not a discussion,” Ra’s says. “It is the respectful thing to do before I deflower you, Detective.”

Tim makes a disgusted face. “You won’t be ‘deflowering’ me. I had sex with Superboy.” It had been an ordeal. Kon’s Kryptonian dick had gained semi-sentience and tried to lay its eggs in Tim. Turns out Clark hadn’t bothered to give him ‘the talk’.

Ra’s’s lip curls. “How inappropriate.”

“No premarital sex, huh, but rape is a-okay,” Tim mocks.

“Victor’s rights, Timothy.”

“That’s bullshit,” Tim says. Ra’s wags a finger in his face.

“Language, Detective.”

Tim sticks his tongue out. “You can’t marry minors without parental consent. Your marriage is null and void. Ra’s! Ra’s, listen to me, we have to be in Alabama—”

  1. **Keep excessive amounts of alcohol away from your detective**



The reception is ostentatious, of course.

Ra’s first notices the problem when Tim’s step is slightly halting at the reception, cheeks slightly redder—always red, really, given how pale his skin is even for a European. They’re even red through the several layers of makeup that Ra’s had his servants apply.

Tim gives a lopsided grin, showing off teeth that, until recently, had had braces on them. That’s the second sign something is off. Timothy has been pouting ever since he was kidnapped.

“I want --- some more campaign,” he says, quite sincerely. A face, as if he knows that’s not quite right. “Clam pain.” A pause. “Sham veins?”

“Champaign, dear,” Ra’s says softly. Timothy grabs another glass from a passing server before Ra’s can stop it. The reception is ostentatious, and Timothy’s dress is no exception, in lacy whites and pale greens, showing off his body just enough to tell everyone what Ra’s has that they don’t. And how they should be jealous of Ra’s’s high school concubine.

“It’s poor taste to be drunk at your own reception,” Ra’s says.

“Your . . . fault,” Tim says. He sways slightly. Ra’s catches his arm. “Kidnapped me. Miss my family.”

“You’ll make a new one quite soon.”

“Fuck you. Hate you,” he mumbles. “Don’t wanna get pregnanant. Pregant. Prenengant.”

Ra’s snatches the glass of champagne from Timothy’s hand as the boy slumps slightly against him.

“I insist,” he says coldly, angrily, “that you be conscious for the _consummation_.”

He takes some pleasure in seeing Timothy’s skin lose its redness for the first time that night, falling away to reveal a pale face. Timothy grabs desperately for the alcohol, but Ra’s whisks it away just in time.

“Absolutely _not_.”

  1. **Keep your detective well entertained**



“You can’t _all_ be monks,” Tim tries to explain. The ninja sat in a circle around him squint at him through the eyeholes in their masks, heavy armor clinking as they shift. Tim repeats it in Arabic for the two that don’t speak English, and then switches to it for good.

“I wish to be of the shadow subclass,” Ninja No. 3 says.

“As do I,” adds Ninja No. 1.

“The point of Dungeons and Dragons is to be something you’re _not_. It’s escapism.” The four guards, practically brainwashed into the service of Ra’s al Ghul, stare at him. “ _Nobody_ is allowed to be a ninja monk.”

“I will be a warlock,” says Ninja No. 2, waving about the bit of paper that Tim had given him, translated from what Tim remembers of the Player’s Guide. “In service of the great Head of the Demon—”

“This is a fantastical universe. Ra’s doesn’t exist. See? Escapism!” Tim sighs. “If you don’t cooperate I’m going to tell him you were very inadequate and suggest severe punishment.” He stares sternly.

The ninja pale. Tim wouldn’t _do_ that, really, because then they would end up dead. He knows exactly how much influence he has with Ra’s. The threat, however, is still good.

“I will be a fighter,” sighs Ninja No. 2. “In the service of nobody.”

“Perfect!” Tim grins. He feels like he should patronizingly pat their heads, but refrains. That’s the kind of thing they might only accept from Ra’s.

“I will be a sorcerer,” says Ninja No. 4, “who works for only himself, and wields fantastic power.”

Tim nods enthusiastically.

“I will be a rogue,” says Ninja No. 1, “who overthrows his glorious leader and takes his place, murdering his kin and raping his wife—”

“Wait just a second—”

“—and sending all his castles and being to endless ruin, in search of individuality.”

“I mean,” Tim says, “I’ll _allow_ it . . .”

(Ninja No. 1 doesn’t show up the next week. Neither do any of the others. _It wasn’t your fault_ , Ra’s assures him, _though please do not encourage individuality, Timothy._ )

  1. **Be assured your detective is sexually satisfied and interested**



Tim sits on one side of the wooden table, idly tracing the patterned texture with one

finger. Ra’s sits stiff and regal as always, a few slips of paper right in front of him. This is obviously a Meeting. Ra’s is always around Tim, but a Meeting is different. Ra’s has something to talk about, and Tim probably doesn’t want to hear it.

“Beloved,” Ra’s says.

“Ra’s,” Tim replies. His voice is considerably cold. More tired.

“I’ve been doing some research,” Ra’s says. “You have been quite uninterested in our sexual activity.”

“It’s because I object to the rape,” Tim says.

“Ah, I think not. I think you’re simply not . . . stimulated enough. So I found out what you might be interested in.”

“Please don’t—”

The papers are slapped onto the table like a death warrant, and Tim is stared in the face by his last six months of search history.

_man turns little brother gay big dick blowjob_ looks back at him like the antichrist with flaming, doomed eyes. Tim pales. He tries to think of _exactly_ what he’d been searching on PornHero before Ra’s had caught up with him, but his mind is suddenly completely blank.

_bears rail twink anal dp rimming_ glares accusingly at him. Tim knows that Ra’s has a perfectly neutral expression on his face. He always does. But Tim can’t force himself to meet the green eyes, not even on the pain of losing some of his pride.

“And some more enlightening content,” Ra’s adds, putting another piece of paper on the table. Tim can barely bring himself to open his eyes and look.

_batman fucks robin hard in the ass_ , _batman and robin blowjob_ , _batmanxrobin_ —

Tim covers his eyes. He can’t take it.

“You’re particularly understimulated in the bedroom. Would you prefer that I don a suit in the manner of your adopted father? Would you enjoy referring to me as—”

“No!” Tim almost screams. He wants to cover his ears. “Ra’s, please. Please don’t, okay? I’ll be good, okay? I’ll pretend I like getting fucked. Just please stop.”

Ra’s makes a little humming sound. “This is not a punishment, Beloved. I am simply curious.” The rustling sound of papers lets him know what’s going on. “Though perhaps you can explain this? _Superboy x reader fluffy love fanfiction_?”

Tim turns white.

“I’m going to kill myself,” he declares, and he’s not sure if he’s joking or not.

  1. **Install safety bars on windows; learn modern youth jargon**



“I’m going to kill myself,” Timothy says.

It’s something he says a lot. Quite a bit, really, typically any time something goes even a little wrong. Timothy had explained to him, a sullen glare in his eyes, that it was a _joke_. Ra’s had eventually been persuaded.

The fact that Timothy is crouched on the window ledge, the mountain wind making long-grown dark hair—tended to with the most expensive shampoos—swirl out behind Timothy, makes the thought of him joking much less likely.

“That is a choice you will regret,” Ra’s says coolly. He could try to grab him, but Timothy would fall out of the window and die anyways. Then when it came time to punish him properly, Timothy could attempt to childishly shift the blame.

Timothy flips him off.

Ra’s raises an eyebrow. “How rude, Beloved.”

“Yeet,” Timothy says. Ra’s assumes this also means _I’m going to kill myself_ because right after Timothy does it, he’s falling through the air. Ra’s doesn’t hear the crack of his bones or see the blood spatter, but he sees the broken body splayed in the snow below, certainly dead.

“How inconvenient,” Ra’s says, to nobody in particular. Except, perhaps, the three guards who monitor Timothy at all times. He makes a mental note to have them executed.

  1. **Discourage your detective from staging coups**



“Fuck,” Tim says.

“Indeed.” Ra’s’s teeth are perfect, pearly white. A wickedly curved sword at his side slowly drips blood into the oceans pooled around his feet, the corpses’ blood eking its way towards Tim’s booted feet.

Tim stomps. Blood splashes, staining the bottom of his robes. “Fuck!”

Ra’s sheathes his sword. The front of his shirt is crimson, showing that he, at least, did not escape unscathed. Tim draws some small satisfaction from that, even though he feels the guards still loyal to Ra’s grab at his shoulders, yanking his arms behind his back and holding him still.

“A valiant attempt, Detective,” Ra’s says. “Next time, I suggest purging your dissenters’ ranks for spies more _carefully_.” He moves forward, and Tim sags slightly in the arms of the guards.

“I’m sorry?” Tim offers.

“You’re not.”

Tim sticks his tongue out.

  1. **Properly reprimand your detective**



_“I’m sorry_ ,” Tim whimpers, head hanging between his shoulders as he stares down at the bed beneath him, fingers curled in the sheets, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

A hand cards gently through sweaty hair. “Shh, Timothy, it will be over soon,” Ra’s murmurs. The back of the boy’s thighs and buttocks are covered in red switch marks, from the birch thing that Ra’s holds in the hand that does not hold Timothy. The skin burns red and pink and parts bleed. Timothy won’t be able to sit down for a month without remembering this.

The next one whips down with a wicked noise. Timothy chokes, spasms, arms shaking. He gasps, tears clinging to his long, pretty lashes like pearls.

“You are free to cry if you like, Beloved,” Ra’s says softly. “Forty out of fifty. You’re almost finished.”

  1. **Curb attempts to relate to the youth**



Ra’s throws his sword. It impales the man through the gut; a wound that will leave him squirming for hours in agony before he finally expires.

“Yeet.”

(Timothy doesn’t speak to him for a week.)

  1. **Keep track of possessions around your detective**



“Is that my cape, Detective?”

Tim wraps the green folds further around himself, his small form almost disappearing inside of it. “Maybe.”

“Are you going to return it?”

The high collar hides Timothy’s face, and slightly muffles his answer. “No.”

  1. **Take very good care of your detective, and give it nobody else to turn to when it hurts**



Timothy’s eyes are wide, blank oceans, full of a sort of pain and sadness that Ra’s knows will pass, but he still almost dislikes seeing in his consort’s eyes. Ra’s’s arm is wrapped around him, fingers splaying dark hair around them, Timothy warm against his chest. His eyes are closed, the two of them wrapped in Ra’s’s cape. Before, Timothy would flinch away whenever he was to be held. Now, he almost begs to be touched with his eyes, even when he is too proud to ask.

A shift of him. Ra’s stays still, doesn’t move, enjoying the fact of Timothy against him. A hand slowly pets his hair.

Something is wet against his chest, where the neck of his shirt is cut down to reveal his chest. Ra’s almost has to pry Tim’s face off of him, and it comes away teary.

“How do you fair, my love?”

A hand rests on Ra’s’s shoulder, pale fingers against dark, tanned skin. The eyes look past Ra’s.

“I hate you,” Timothy whispers. It’s not an accusation. Simply a sad, broken confession.

“I know,” Ra’s says, almost, almost sympathetic.

A pause,

A long, long pause.

“I love you,” Tim whispers, and it’s even softer, barely audible. And then he’s diving back against Ra’s’s chest, Ra’s’s head tucked above Tim’s.

“I know,” Ra’s murmurs.

The look in his eyes is the stare of a man who has killed millions, and will kill millions more.

**Author's Note:**

> nobody:  
> me: haha rape


End file.
